


Polite, clipped, european

by Afaxis (SparksOut)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: "yeah im a shapeshifter just fuck me up", Asphyxiation, Begging, Biting, Bloodplay, Bondage, Brief FemDom, Choking, Crying, Dom/sub, F/M, Hickies, Knife Play, Making Out, Rough Sex, Sex In An Office, Vaginal Sex, abuse of healing powers, calm discussion of cannibalism, dubcon, gentle to rough, hannibal likes to make people beg, sex on a desk, tied down, tied up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 09:24:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13408260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparksOut/pseuds/Afaxis
Summary: “You can look at me in anger as much as you want, but it doesn’t change that you are powerless. It’s your blood dripping along your chest, your tears dripping down your face.” He kissed the cuts along my collarbones, tracing them with his tongue and wrenching a pathetic moan from my mouth that I buried in his chest.“Pathetic.”(This is basically a hannibal x reader story but writing in second person feels weird.)





	Polite, clipped, european

There’s something about him that was incredibly hard to describe. I’ve never truly been one for agonizing poems about my beloved; never been one for a beloved, really. But Hannibal Lecter, Doctor Lecter, was different than I was used to. Tall, but not overly so. Polite, clipped, european. A delicacy for the american pallete, I laughed to myself. 

“Something funny, Miss Vant?” Doctor Lecter asked, hearing my chuckle. At the time I was surveying his office, eyeing its casually macabre features with a cool gaze. Lecter himself was seated behind his desk. I assumed he was looking at me with a similar collected air. 

I pulled my eyes from the deer statue leaning against the wall. The animal looked haggard, every curve of muscle and nuance of its desperate expression permanently encased in sculpted metal. “No, not really.” I returned my gaze to the statue, seemingly entranced by its posed suffering. 

“How many people has that statue killed? It smells like death.” I said, licking my lips. 

He leaned forward in his chair, his gaze rising in intensity. “You’re here for a reason, aren’t you? Or do you often stroll through the offices of your colleagues insulting their decorations?” 

I scoffed. “At best I’m a consultant. At worst…a circus monkey.”

“I’m sure you offer them something unique.” He said, catching my eyes. “Something entirely unique.” His tone was heavy and implied double meaning. It would be wrong of me to underestimate this man’s intuition.

I sat down across from him, meeting his gaze with unflinching resolve. “Are you trying to say something, Doctor?” Though I was trying to focus on the conversation at hand, I was suddenly hyperaware of the way his shirt caught around the muscles of his shoulders, the black vest over it making him look lean and dangerous. His eyes bored into mine as if they were trying to coax an answer from my lips. 

In response, I leaned back, laughing. “You’re a dangerous person, Doctor Lecter. Half the room smells like death, yourself most of all.” 

I dragged my eyes down his body, scanning it for details that would betray the secret personal life of the man sitting before me. There was no blood flecked on his collar, no droplets on his sleeves. He was far too clean for someone radiating murderous intent. 

“You know, I’ve dealt with death quite at length.” At that, the edge of Lecter’s mouth curled up in a smirk.

“You’re a shapeshifter, one notorious for the number of murders tied to her.” He answered, trying to stare me down. I almost flinched in surprise when he reached out and took my hand, spreading my fingers in his palm. His hands were rough and so much larger than mine, a detail I tried not to let get to me too badly. 

“They say you’ve eaten every species at least twice.” 

“Yes, and I can smell human blood on you.” I responded, looking down my nose at him, examining his reaction to my assessment. 

“I’m human enough to pass, just like you.” He said, and I laughed again, growing drunk on the thick tension in the room. Hannibal’s smirk was gone, his expression unflinching as he leaned closer to me while he clutched my hand more tightly in his own. 

“Have you ever had a true meal, though? It’s one thing to be a lion eating poachers raw but tasteless violence doesn’t do the meat justice. Doesn’t bring out all the subtle flavours, the delicacy.” 

He reached up to my face, brushing his thumb along my cheekbone and down over my lips. I was struck by the tenderness of the action, how much it contrasted his words. There was no mistaking his expression, however. Hannibal wanted something. He was hungry. 

“It wouldn’t be cannibalism, not for me. Although, if I’m human when I consume human meat does that make it cannibalism?” He flinched at the word cannibalism, his hand faltering for a moment. 

“Would you prefer if I called it something else?” I asked, loosely. 

“The most dangerous game perhaps?” No response, just his thumb running itself over my bottom lip. I resisted the urge to dart my tongue out and lick it.

He looked at me darkly. “Before the entree, I have another question. You’re a shapeshifter, so what happens to your current form when it’s damaged?”

His hand fell from my face when I pulled back at the remark, and I found myself sad at the sudden loss of contact. “That’s quite a question, Doctor.” 

I swallowed roughly, trying not to notice his eyes following the lines of my throat. “I shift into another form, and the damaged one regenerates. I can’t be truly harmed. At least, not easily.” 

“Good, as I have no plans to be gentle with you.” Hannibal said, standing. He extended a hand to me, looking down at me with burning eyes. My pulse surged at his gaze. Other than that, he seemed perfectly calm. All done up in that expensive suit and unshakeable demeanor. I took his hand, rising from my chair. 

Contrary to his early statements, Hannibal was gentle when he pushed me against the wall, one hand on my hip and the other at my shoulder. His lips against mine were soft, almost questioning. 

I cautiously kissed him back, slowly running my hands through his hair and down his sides. The hand at my shoulder grazed up my neck, brushing through my hair with a soft stroke. Slowly though, the roughness increased. I felt him lean into me, pushing his body up against mine. The hand in my hair, tightened, forcing my head to the side as he broke the kiss. 

I glared at him past the hand caught in my hair, lips red and stung and I shivered with the look he cast on me in response. His eyes were still hungry, and his entire demeanor radiated cold despite the warmth pressed against me. Weren’t lovers supposed to be filled with a hot, fiery passion? There was none of that here with Hannibal; just dark, cloying hunger. 

An involuntary yelp escaped from my mouth as he surged forward suddenly and bit me, my hands going to his chest to push him away. He pulled away slightly, his breath ghosting against my neck as he moved to whisper in my ear. 

“You can smell human blood on me, but I smell lust on you. You want me to consume you,” He said, licking the shell of my ear. 

“I’m going to eat you alive.”

A shock slammed through my body and hit my lungs, tying my tongue and leaving me without a response. He his mouth down my neck, the hand in my hair loosening and smoothing out the disheveled strands. It slid to my waist as he sucked on my neck right on the sensitive spot where neck met shoulder. I wanted to flinch, to rip my head back to the side and push him off of me. 

“No you don’t.” He responded, and I realized I’d said the last part out loud. He sucked on my neck again and the pain that spiked through me was met by an equal surge of pleasure. I could feel his tongue on my skin, feel his teeth when he bit me. 

I could feel him growing hard against me when he finally broke the skin, a whine escaping me at the sudden sharp pain. The hand on my waist pushed under my shirt, up to grab my breast. 

His lips were red and my shoulder throbbed, the first wound of what I now believed would be many. He backed up just enough to strip my shirt off, throwing it to the ground as he recaptured my lips with his. His tongue brushed against my lips, pressing the taste of my own blood into my mouth. I shivered, going limp and falling into his chest. 

His hands were back at my chest, kneading my breasts roughly to the point of pain. His lips on mine were aggressive, his kisses more teeth than lips. I barely even noticed his hands moving to my neck, and he broke the kiss to watch me gasp as they closed around my throat. I was vaguely aware of a trail of blood dripping down my shoulder as my vision began to swim and grey-out. I grabbed weakly at his wrists, my body too drained of oxygen to do anything besides writhe against him. Hannibal forced a knee up between my legs to halt my movement, holding me in place like a pinned bug. I was caught like the stag hanging on his wall. 

“Tell me to stop. Beg me,” Hannibal demanded, holding me just at the edge of consciousness. I could barely see him lick his lips as I swallowed, the muscles of my throat straining against his hands. 

“I can feel your pulse. I can feel your fear. I can stop that pulse if you don’t beg me not to.”

I glared at him as much as I could while my eyelids grew heavy. My heart shuddered in my chest, and heat began to pool in my stomach. 

“Please,” I begged, barely able to get the word out. 

He removed one hand to press against the bite he’d left on my shoulder, the other still solidly clutching my throat. “Louder.” 

I cried out, thrashing about, kicking at his shins and tossing my head, trying to get him off of me. I’d already begged once.I wasn’t going to say it again. 

He chuckled darkly at my helplessness, the sick black returning to his eyes. He brought his bloody fingers to my mouth and pushed them against my lips. I refused to open my mouth, continued to deny him. He was going to have to work a little harder than that. 

Seemingly undeterred by my resistance, Hannibal moved his thumb to the base of my throat, pressing down hard in the sensitive hollow there. When I gasped at thepain he took that opportunity to press his fingers onto my tongue. I gagged around them as he pressed them down my throat, the taste of my own blood filling my senses. 

I responded by biting down on his fingers which he withdrew quickly with a hiss. He dropped his hands to his waist, yanking his belt off. 

“Be good, or I will have to add to this.” He threatened, pressing his nails into the cut on my shoulder. He grabbed my wrist, but I slipped out of his grasp and clawed at him, yanking his hair back and biting onto his neck. 

He stood, stunned, in my grasp for several seconds before his hands dug into my back. The taste of his skin, of his sweat and racingpulse in my mouth was intoxicating. I had the power then, and I pushed us off the wall and towards his desk. He made a tiny noise deep in his throat as I backed us up against the desk. I moved my lips down along his neck, dragging my teeth over the skin there as I worked my way up to his ear. 

“I don’t beg.” 

He grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and ripped me off of him, pressing me stomach down against his desk before I could react. I felt his hips push up against me as he leaned over me. His breath ghosted over my ear as he said “You will.” 

He leashed his belt around my wrists, attaching them to the desk in one smooth movement. I pulled at the belt, trying to get my hands free when I felt a heavy hand at the back of my neck. 

“You can pull all you want, but it’s genuine human leather. Your hands will break before the belt does.” There was no humor in his voice, just a cold statement of fact. The same dark, empty soullessness from earlier had returned to him, apparently. The heat in my stomach twisted at the idea of Hannibal holding down the belt’s owner in a similar fashion, stripping the skin from their helpless and writhing body. I was completely at the mercy of a monster of a man.

The pressure vanished from my legs as Hannibal searched for something within the drawers of the desk. I heard metallic items shuffling against the wood as he selected something from his drawers. Turning my head as much as I could, my cheek pressing against the wood of the desk, I saw that Hannibal held a scalpel in his hand, dainty and sharp. It wasn’t stained with blood, but I doubted this would be its first use. 

Hannibal grabbed me by the hips and flipped me around so my back pressed against the cold wood, quickly being slicked by my sweat. 

“Don’t you dare.” I hissed at him, glaring. 

“Brave words from the girl tied down to a desk.” Hannibal replied, calm and unbothered. 

I strained again, turning my wrists against each other and pulling as hard as I could at the belt. I almost had one hand free when Hannibal’s hands returned to my neck, pushing down on my windpipe with the same unbearable force as before. I coughed and struggled to breathe, but the greyness didn’t sink back in this time. 

I lifted my feet and kicked at his hips where they leaned against mine, sending Hannibal stumbling backwards. Hannibal looked shocked, then angry, then amused. The kind of amused that was entirely self-satisfying; I’d given him all the excuses he needed to use that scalpel. 

My legs rested back against the desk but the muscles in them were tensed, waiting for him to approach. He merely smiled darkly, circling the desk just outside of my reach. When he reached my head he stroked my hair, bending down to murmur mostly incoherent reprimands into my skull. 

Then he nicked me with the scalpel, so fast and burning that I almost think I’d imagined it until his mouth latched onto the cut, sucking hard on the wound. The feeling is exquisite, transcendental; it hurts and it stings but it feels good in the worst way possible. I can’t stop the loud moan that leaves my mouth as I twist my body, unsure of whether to pull a way or lean into the pressure.

He kisses back up my arms until he reaches my mouth again, but this time I’m not so passive when he kisses me. I bit him back, hard enough to draw blood. He gasped, recoiling before returning to his position just as quickly. The scalpel returned as well, drawing painfully slowly across my collarbone, the sting of it radiating through my body and drawing unwarranted tears from my eyes. 

“You can look at me in anger as much as you want, but it doesn’t change that you are powerless. It’s your blood dripping along your chest, your tears dripping down your face.” He kissed the cuts along my collarbones, tracing them with his tongue and wrenching a pathetic moan from my mouth that I buried in his chest. 

“Pathetic.”

I hung limp, not trying to kick him away, ever afraid of the scalpel clutched delicately in his hand. “Spread your legs.” he demanded, tapping on my knee. 

I mustered a glare, but complied. He pulled my jeans down and I kicked them off when they pooled around my ankles. Hannibal pulled me down the desk until my ass was hanging off the edge like I was a piece of meat. 

Seeing an opening, I wrapped my legs around his hips and pulled him back into me. I captured his lips in a bruising kiss once again, moaning at the now savory taste of my own blood on his lips. 

“You’re exquisite.” he groaned into my kiss, dropping the scalpel and moving his hands down my body to trace his fingers through the wetness pooling between my thighs. I twisted my hands against the belt, digging my nails into it as I let out a stream of needy noises. All coherent thought was out the window—all I could focus on was the weight of Hannibal on my chest and the hand rubbing against me.

His hand swept up and away, avoiding my clit as he traced his fingers over my thighs and up my chest. “Your skin is so clean, so perfect. So pale; your blood looks absolutely lovely against it.” he said, dragging his fingers through the cut along my collarbone. 

“More beautiful with a little color.” I responded breathlessly, looking up into his black eyes. He retrieved the scalpel again, cutting a shallow curve under my breasts as he slowly pushed his fingers into me. 

I bit off a scream at the unexpected intrusion, the pleasure mixed closely with pain. He pumped his fingers in me slowly, watching the muscles twitch under my skin as my body tried to decide if I was trying to escape or pull him closer. 

The sheer violation of it, the wrongness of knowing he was fucking me on fingers soaked in my own blood, made me decide on pulling him closer. He watched me as he went, the heel of his palm grinding against my clit as he edged me towards release. 

I was writhing against the table when he suddenly removed his fingers all together. I whined at the loss, only to gasp when he replaced them with his cock. 

He pushed into me slowly, his size taking the wind out of me as I arched up against the table. When his hips were pressed against mine he gives me a moment to adjust, kissing and sucking at the wound on my collarbone once again. 

He took no time setting up a brutal pace, pushing me towards that climax I was denied before. His hands were all over my body, dragging along my neck, my tits, my sides. Catching on anywhere he could feel bone and digging his fingers into them, eliciting moans and hisses from me in equal measure. 

I’m whimpering now, my climax approaching fast and my wrists aching from where the belt pulled at them. “Please, Hannibal, please.” I begged under my breath. Whether I wanted him to stop or to go harder, I couldn’t tell. I wanted something, and I prayed Hannibal would give it to me.

He brought the scalpel down my side, shallowly opening my skin and sending red drops of blood oozing across the table as me both finished, his cock twitching inside of me as he emptied himself deep inside me. 

He pulled out after, tucking himself away and leaving me a bleeding, dripping mess on his desk. At this point, I was too exhausted to care. I probably could have fallen asleep, mess and blood and all. Thankfully, Hannibal wasn’t too cruel to leave me like that. He came around behind me, undoing the belt around my hands and helping me sit up. I rubbed feeling back into my wrists, looking over the angry red bruises that encircled them. Hannibal helped me to his shower, and the water stung as it rinsed over the cuts littering my body. 

Yet, it all felt right; rinsing away all of the wrongs, all the evidence. The warm water soothed the strained muscles in my arms, massaging away the aches. 

After what would never be long enough, Hannibal turned off the water and pulled me from the shower, wiping off my cuts. He applied antiseptic and bandages to them, making sure they’ve all stopped bleeding. 

“Never would’ve thought you’d be one for aftercare.” I choked out, sitting on his couch wrapped in a fluffy towel. 

“The faster you heal, the faster I can do worse things to you.” He responded, simply.

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing smut, tell me what you think!


End file.
